So, we all have secrets--things we don't want everyone to know about us. I don't know anyone who doesn't have at least one guilty pleasure. Aside from food and shopping, I guess most of my guilty pleasures involve music.
For the most part, my favorite music taste falls into the "alternative" category--whatever the word alternative means. You won't get into my car and hear Britney Spears blaring. Kings of Leon (even though considered alternative by some) won't be "using somebody" on my iPod. That said, there are a few things that worm their way under my musical skin. I'm often ashamed to admit these intruders have found a place in my music collection.
It all started a few years back with a New Year's Eve special featuring Maroon 5. "This Love" was being played on the radio at a rate of frequency that produced infectious annoyance. But there was something different that clicked with me when I saw them play it live. And yes, the fact that lead singer Adam Levine is freaking geeky hot doesn't hurt. I picked up the album "Songs About Jane," and was obsessed with it for months on end. I still think it's one of the best pop/rock albums ever.
I think my soul swore that I wouldn't let anything else in, but my ears are weak. Most recently, Lady Gaga and Katy Perry chewed their way onto my iPod like vermin. I'm scared Ke$ha might end up there too. Oh, the shame of pop music! I blame my parents.
Growing up, my mom and stepdad were music junkies. Their music collection ranged from Kiss, to Neil Diamond. One of my good friends loves "classic rock." When I grew up, "classic rock" was pop music. It was what everyone was listening to because what's "classic" now is what was new then. And I think there's something to be said for that.
At some point, everything in music is alternative. Rock n' roll started as an underground movement. Parents wanted to keep their kids from listening to "that trash." Country music started out as something way more risque' and inappropriate before radio arrived on the scene (Can you even think about a time without radio?!).
As an "alternative" music lover, probably one of the most shameful confessions I have to make is that I have been infected with Taylor Swift. I blame, in part, my current profession, and the fact that I grew up during a period where pop music had a love affair with country music and for a while, it was pretty difficult to tell the difference. From Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers singing Barry Gibb's "Islands in the Stream," to Eddie Rabbit's "I Love a Rainy Night," it was hard to know whether I was liking country music or pop. It was a very confusing time. When I found myself in the veterinary profession, it was almost inevitable that I would be locked in a room or car with someone who exclusively listened to country music--again during a period when country was crossing the line. But I think this time around, country artists were seeking out the affair.
From Shania Twain and Faith Hill, to Keith Urban, country and pop seemed destined to rekindle their romance. I liked what I was hearing in spite of myself, and even found myself listening a little deeper. It's hard for me to admit that some of the country I like most is also the most hard core. Montgomery Gentry's "Daddy Won't Sell the Farm" is worthy of being blasted, and the smokey and seductive heart-wrenching twang of Gary Allan easily makes me weak in the knees.
It seemed for a while, however, that some distance had come between country music and me. But, with a hair flip and the goofy grin of then eighteen-year-old Taylor Swift, it all came back. I didn't want to like her. She wasn't "worthy" of my musical snobbery. So, I tried to ignore her.
I think it's important at this point to remind the reader that I started off talking about secrets and guilty pleasures. Among the ones I listed for myself was food. I know that it is important to eat a balanced diet and that I shouldn't overindulge. I know I should drink water instead of Dr. Pepper. I know that a poached egg or a protein shake would be a better breakfast than a cherry Pop Tart. But here's the deal, sometimes, you just want a cherry Pop Tart, even if it isn't good for you. There's something about the frosting meshing with the cherry filling when it's warmed that creates a perfect balance of tart and sweet. It's so bad, it's good. There's almost no nutritional value.
"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone
I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess
It's a love story, baby just say yes."
"Love Story" --Taylor Swift
Those were the words. Those infectious cherry pop tart words. For one, I couldn't get away from them, for two, why wouldn't they make you smile? It found its way onto my iPod. Drat! But I didn't tell anyone, so nobody had to know.
Around the time Swift released her most recent album "Speak Now," she appeared on a television special to promote its release and the upcoming tour to support it. I DVRd it and watched it alone. A few years older, her lyrics had matured as well.
"Oh, holding my breath
Won't see you again
Something keeps me holding onto nothing"
"Haunted" --Taylor Swift
"Speak Now" has a very different vibe than "Fearless," but oddly, maybe it's more fearless than "Fearless." It's an album that explores the darker emotions associated with love--mostly lost love.
I found myself downloading the album based on the special alone. Again, I told no one.
A couple months ago, I secretly DVRd a special about her "Fearless" tour, and I found myself kind of wishing I had gotten to see her. I kind of hoped I might find a chance to see her this time around, but I really didn't want to admit that I wanted to go. Luckily, a few of my coworkers wanted to go too and I could slip going under the radar. I joked with everyone that I would go, but would tell no one, and that if I ended up with a t-shirt, it would never be paired with anything but pajama pants.
As it started to circulate that a few of us were going, my fellow music snob at work confessed that she, too, couldn't hate Taylor Swift--against her better judgment. She listened to her talking about what she does and found her "endearing." And that's the problem, for those of us who have crossed over to the "bright side," she's oddly endearing.
Some days the job I do is fairly easy. I get to help puppies and kittens (and their older counterparts) all day. And then, there are the hard days--the days that I see things I can't reconcile or make sense of. Some days, the world is a pretty tough place. Human beings are capable of inhumane cruelty to each other, and I hear about things I can't even believe to be possible.
Last night, in nearly nosebleed seats, I spent two hours with a few of my friends watching a silly twenty-one-year-old flip her hair and stare at the audience with wild-eyed expressions that bordered on absurd theatrics. But, there was a woman in the row in front of us with her daughter and one of my best friends looked at me and said "That's going to be me in about seven years." My response, "Maybe it will be me too." I felt myself choke up just a little bit and feel a little teary-eyed in the moment.
If I am fortunate enough to be that woman in about seven years, I'm sure I will want my daughter to eat her vegetables and listen to U2. I'm sure I will still be protesting that she will not be going to see Ke$ha with her "aunt Meg." But, maybe we'll be taking her and Maci to see Taylor Swift together. And that would be all right by me.
In a world that often seems to have gone crazy, and sometimes only wants to take you down with it, what can be so bad about an adorable twenty-one-year-old that writes her own silly love songs while playing her own guitar, piano or banjo? It may be cherry Pop Tart music, but you know, sometimes, you just need a cherry Pop Tart.
"Enchanted" Taylor Swift
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